I hold my breath, as yet again I read my son’s planner.
Yesterday, he hit the teacher. Today, he had several meltdowns, one that lasted half an hour.
I look at him over my shoulder, sitting in his booster seat, staring vaccantly out the window. He is still so young, young enough to still need that seat, but in a way, he looks older. He has always looked older.
“What happened at school today? What was it that made you feel upset?”
His answer stuns me, and breaks my heart. “The teacher crumpled my comic book up. I really wanted to give you the comic I made, and she crumpled it up.”
Do I know for sure this is what happened? No, I have no idea what prompted this scenario. But as I tell him that I can understand why he would feel sad and hurt by that, a lump grows in my throat, and I know that once again, I need to find a time to talk to you. Once again, I need to stand up for my child.
Once again, someone doesn’t understand. And that is his biggest trigger.
I often try to tell people that while my daughter is most upset when she feels left out or ignored, my son is most upset when he feels misunderstood. People tend to smirk when I say this, and say, “Doesn’t everyone hate that?” I agree that while no one likes to be misunderstood, but in my son, it almost short circuits his brain. I have seen the panic flash in his eyes, the twitching of his hands. I have heard the screams that can range from high pitched squeals, to angry gutteral growls. I have sat with him, sometimes having to hold him gently but firmly to keep him from hurting himself. I know better than anyone that it isn’t easy. It’s downright exhausting at times. But there is no giving up, no walking away. Because I am his Mama. I am his safe place to fall. At the end of the day, his Dad and I there, picking up the pieces and getting ready to try again tomorrow.
It used to be just us, and his BIs who worked with him. It used to be so easy to sit in on a session, to discuss learning outcomes and techniques and solutions. Our team was so tight knit, we knew from one day to the next what his funding was being used for, where every penny was going.
It is not that way now. Now, there is red tape, and vague IEP meetings, and susbstitute teachers and EAs, who do the best they can, but are bewildered when a little boy who can’t process all these changes easily screams at them or hits them. Where I used to have an open door policy, and a clear rapport with his preschool teachers, I now see shuttered windows and curt emails. My Autism team is met with derision and refusal to cooperate, where they used to be welcomed with open arms. It should not be this way. We should be working together to find solutions and help him be the best he can be.
I really do get it. I understand how hard it is to understand how a child can be so sweet and empathetic one minute, yet such a tornado the next. But please hear me when I say, my son is worth it.
I have seen children like him become angry and jaded. I have seen them close up and off from the world, become callous and cold, when they didn’t start out that way. I am begging you, now that you see my child in those many precious hours, away from my arms and away from his hone: don’t break my son. Help him learn, give him tools, but don’t crush his spirit. Let his imagination soar, but keep his feet firmly planted. I know it is a tall order, but he can be great: don’t let him slip through the cracks. Let him grow.
I will say it again: he is worth it, and so much more.
readytofly89 